701. AT CHRISTCHURCH

AT CHRISTCHURCH
Philadelphia, 2010
There was no cold in the lining :
the three Quakers nearby, having just
left their Meeting House, were nibbling
on some cracker-like crumbs. Atop the
adjacent spire, not theirs but belonging
to some other congregation entire, the old
bell was pealing. Christ Church, or near;
right by where Ben Franklin is buried. I
walked over there, slowly, and with intent.
People, even today, throw pennies on the
grave site like confetti. A big marble slab,
intriguingly, it lies flat on the old, hard soil.
No one knows anything really, of that I
remain aware; yet they throw something,
anything, pennies and dimes, as fans do
to show they revere. Whatever it is, some
mysterious, tribal thing we do within us
so as to accommodate the space in which we
live. Two girls, I swear, from Oklahoma,
were somehow singing aloud 'Mine Eyes
Have Seen the Glory of the Coming of
the Lord.' Their little car, with OK plates,
was parked along the curb.